Evolution is not optional. You might choose to disembark from the progress train, but that train is going to continue its journey, with or without you.

Now, admittedly, I am not the best person to deliver this not-very-surprising news. The most-listened-to album on my iPhone was released 43 years ago. I firmly believe that men dressed best in the 1930s and 40s, that the 1970s largely gave us the best music, and that the 1980s was the greatest decade of all time.

It has been a very long time since I discovered a meaningful new band; even longer since I discovered one that didn’t just remind me of something from my youth. I am not someone who stays on top of what’s “trending.” I don’t know who half the new celebrities are. And when I hear someone mention TikTok, my instinct is to reach for a wristwatch.

But I’m also not stubborn enough or delusional enough to believe that my preferences freeze time. I’m willing to accept that Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift are the sound of today. They’re not for me, and they were never supposed to be. And just because I find them both bland, vanilla, and far too safe and corporate for my tastes, I don’t resent their existence.

I don’t have to like everything new. But I do have to acknowledge it. That’s the price of living in the present.

All of which brings us to the subject of demolition and construction equipment. More specifically, it brings us to the issue of people dismissing the new in favour of the tried and tested.

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Ever since I returned to the Substack platform as a home for my long-form writing, I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to the subject of US politics: not just as a spectator; but as a student of dysfunction. It’s not the drama or the spectacle that grabs my attention. It’s the patterns. The eerie, creeping sense of déjà vu.

Substack has become a lifeline for independent voices, particularly in the US, where some of the best journalism now lives beyond the reach of corporate media. These voices – unfiltered and unbought – are exposing the machinery behind the Trump administration: the lies, the cronyism, the almost theatrical incompetence.

And every time I read a new exposé about backroom deals, policy made on whims, or leadership decisions based on ego or petty cruelty rather than expertise, a strange thing happens. I don’t just think, “that sounds awful.” I think, “that sounds familiar”.

Because while we may like to believe that such chaos is a uniquely American disease, the symptoms are starting to appear here too: in boardrooms; in industry bodies; and on demolition and construction sites. The UK demolition and construction industry might not have a Trump figurehead, but the same reckless disregard for experience, ethics, and equity is becoming impossible to ignore.

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She was fifteen when she said it aloud for the first time. It wasn’t a joke, or a dare, or a moment of adolescent rebellion. It was just a simple truth: “I want to work in demolition.”

Her classmates froze. Then came the laughter. A ripple at first. Then full-throated howls. Like she’d announced plans to become an astronaut, or a wizard, or to marry a movie star. “You?” one girl gasped. “In demolition?!” Another chimed in. “That’s a pretty butch job, you know. Is there something you’d like to tell us?”

By the end of the morning session, she was eating lunch alone. By the end of the week, she had been labelled a lesbian. The fact that she had a boyfriend apparently counted for nothing. But then he was gone too. Being the boyfriend to “demolition girl” apparently didn’t align with what he considered to be “cool”.

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Bauma is a mountain. It is not an event you attend or a place you visit. It is a thing you conquer. Rising to the challenge of Bauma requires grit, resilience and endurance. But when you have scaled the peak, the view is amazing; the feeling is euphoric; and you will have memories that will last you a lifetime.

10 times I have visited Bauma; and ten times it has defeated me. I have always returned with regrets: regret that the show didn’t last just a little bit longer; regrets at the things I should have seen but didn’t; regrets at the people I planned to meet but couldn’t. But not this time. This time I arrived in Munich with a very long and very detailed list of tasks. And now as I sit in the Munich apartment that has been my home for the past week, my suitcase packed and waiting by the door, my list of tasks is a sea of ticks. Every machine I wanted to see; every person I wanted to meet; every stand I wanted to visit. Done.

Of course, I am not kidding myself. I am sure there were dozens of hidden gems that I didn’t stumble upon; maybe there were enlightening conversations to be had while I was otherwise engaged. But I will return from the Messe Munchen safe in the knowledge that I gave it my all.

And trust me, the equipment manufacturers did likewise. Bobcat, Hitachi, Kobelco, Komatsu, Liebherr, Volvo, Wacker Neuson and all the others brought their A-game; their engineers made possible the impossible, producing equipment not of today but of years to come.

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